





9 

I 

I 











I 




r 


I 


ik 





* r 3 



% 












4 



♦ . »' 






1 « 

n 






DR. STORK AND THE 
GARDEN OF BABES 


A STORY 

BY 

Bertha Baker Ailing 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

THE AUTHOR 



LAKE FORESTER PRESS 
LAKE FOREST 
1907 


LIbRARYof CONGRESS I 
Two Copies Received 

MAY 31 190r 

Cepynrht Entry 

CLASS XXCmNo. 

COPY b. I 


To 

Little B. A. 


R;eceived from 
Copyright Office. 

If 


Dr. Stork and the Garden 
ot Babes. 

It was on a summer’s day in August, 
a very drowsy, sweet-scented, tepid 
day, that the strange occurrence I 
am about to relate, took place. I 
was lying on my back on the new- 
cut hay of the apple orchard, watch- 
ing a bright patch of sky through the 
opening of the leaves overhead. 
Every now and then a feathery white 
cloud would obscure the blue, then 
hurry away as if to join its fellows. 
And just as I was thinking how like 
to large winged creatures these sum- 
mer clouds were, one of them seemed 
to eddy and sway, and before my 
very eyes it descended swiftly through 
the trembling heated air, falling with 
a thud at my feet. 

There was a struggle, a gasping 
cry, and as I jumped up in aniaze- 
ment, I saw that it really was 
a huge white bird, with powerful 
wings that were now feebly flap- 
ping. It had a long heavy beak 
and such long queer legs that I im- 


mediately recognized, from the pic- 
tures in my story books, that my un- 
expected visitor was a stork. So, 
knowing the cleverness of his family, 
I was not much surprised to hear, in 
an almost exhausted croak, “Water, 
please, water quickly!’’ 

With great presence of mind, remem- 
bering a fable of Mr. ^sop’s about true 
hospitality suiting the cup to the 
drinker, I hastened into the house, 
found a tall glass rose vase and filled 
it at the pump nearby. My thought- 
fulness was rewarded by the ease and 
apparent pleasure with which the stork 
hurriedly slacked his thirst and re- 
newed his strength. It was only then 
I noticed a very small object wriggling 
in the grass close by, that looked like 
a little jelly-fish. But no, if you will 
believe me, it turned out to be a live 
baby with no clothes on at all, except 
a pink ribbon tied around its waist! 
Before I could quite believe my own 
eyes, the stork, now revived, made a 
motion with his beak to pick the 
infant up by his sash. 

“Hold there,” I cried, “What are 
you going to do with that baby? 

“Take it where it belongs, to be 


6 


sure! Mrs. Brown, down there in 
the village, will be getting pretty 
anxious if this baby does not arrive 
very soon, and the little one too is 
getting tired. You see,” apologetic- 
lally, “he is a heavy little chap — full 
fourteen pounds, — bo carry on such a 
hot day, and I am new on this delivery 
route.” 

“But stay, Mr. Stork,” I cried, “do 
tell me where you came from and 
where you get the babies. I have 
always wanted to know ! ’ ’ 

“Well wait until I deliver this one 
and I will come back and show you, 
for one good turn deserves another.” 

“Oh, do,” I exclaimed, but quick as 
a wink the stork was up and flying 
away, with his dangling little burden. 

While I was wondering anxiously 
whether he would return I heard the 
whirr of his great wings again, and 
before I could think what was hap- 
pening, I was caught up myself, (fortu- 
nately I had on a stout leather belt), 
and in a minute the apple trees 
looked like cabbages away below. 
Higher, still higher, we flew, and the 
earth was only a large round shiny 
disk, and the stars came out one by 


7 


one. I began to wonder if we would 
hit the right planet if we fell, when 
suddenly we took a sideways tack, a 
quick lurch, and I felt ground be- 
neath my feet. 

The stork looked at me gravely, and 
asked me how I stood the journey. 
I assured him I was all right, and in- 
deed whatever dizziness I felt was 
being rapidly dissipated as I drank 
in the most entrancing air I had ever 
dreamed of. Soft and sweet as a 
baby’s breath it was, and vibrating 
with a gentle indefinite music as from 
wind harps in everj^ tree. An inde- 
scribable thrill seemed to steal 
through my senses and I felt uplifted 
and buoyant. 

“How heavenly,” I cried. 

“Of course it is,” said the stork. 
“This is a little corner of Heaven 
staked off for the propagation of 
babies. And when they are ripe the 
storks come and pick them and dis- 
tribute them down in the world.” 

“So the babies really do come from 
Heaven 1 I always thought so,—” 
but my speech was cut short as I be- 
gan to take in the wonderful and 
beautiful view spread before me. A 


8 


garden such as one might dream of, 
but hardly hope to see, stretched out 
in every direction, bathed in a golden 
light that seemed to be inherent in 
the air itself, rather than to come 
from any one source. Paths of 
dazzling whiteness— I found they were 
paved with even]blocks of loaf sugar- 
intersected, and formed beds and 
borders of curiously quaint designs. 
Soft groves of hemlocks all dazzling 
with golden fruit and toys of every 
kind, — I never did see so many Christ- 
mas trees, — gave a pleasant variety 
here and there to the growth of the 
garden. White marble foimtains, 
bordered by pussy willows, were 
dotted around, which even as they 
caught my eye, burst into a wide 
spreading rainbow shower that gently 
bathed the Garden and then stopped. 
This happened, my stork friend 
informed me, twice a day, by earth 
time, as an electrical connection set 
them off just at our sunrise and sun- 
set. And this is why, I suppose, we 
see such beautiful colors far away in 
the sky at those times. 

The Garden appeared to be irrigated 
also by a beautiful winding river. 


9 





t- j>. 1 


^ - . 1 


E^4 



iS^ 



■iUMi[yS5>'>‘'4»-., 

iMr 

!|S 

^n\^SSS2k. 


i-'l 

a 


i^‘ 





cream colored, and with lots of little 
tributaries running around nourish- 
ing the roots of the foliage. It was 
the Milky Way, sure as you live. I 
never knew before how useful it was. 
But now the garden beds, all glisten- 
ing from the shower, began to interest 
me particularly, then fill me with 
astonishment. I had noticed the 
bushes seemed laden with fruit of 
some strange variety, and as I stepped 
down into the garden and strolled in- 
to one of the sugar paths I put out my 
hand to pluck a particularly large 
and luscious snow apple, as I thought. 
To my surprise it immediately emitted 
a pair of lively little legs and arms, 
as though I had touched a sensitive 
plant, and behold it was a tiny pink 
and white baby, still fastened to the 
leafy bough on which it had grown. 
And every bush, as far as I could see, 
was full of them, some only as large 
as a walnut, and closed up tight like 
little red buds, others life sized, and 
kicking violently. 

Those I came to first were all white 
babies with pink trimmings. As my 
stork guide led me farther up, we 
came to a low grove all blossomed 


11 


out into yellow babies, not so pretty 
I thought, but most of them go down 
to Asia I was told. And presently, 
what seemed at first sight to be a 
patch of ripe blackberries, proved, on 
closer view to be a pickaninny bed. 
There was a large harvest there, 
apparently. 

“You see,’’ said the stork “there is 
a demand for all kinds of babies, and 
we have to match ’em up to the color 
of the parents we take them to or 
they wouldn’t suit. A white lady 
would not like a black baby, for 
instance, and if a brown mother got 
a white baby she would think the 
color had come out in the wash. So 
we keep them assorted and then the 
storks can fill their orders more 
quickly.” 

And now I began to notice how 
quite an army of storks was going 
around the various paths, using their 
long beaks as shears, and plucking 
ripe babies from the bushes. These 
were carefully placed in large ham- 
pers lined with down, and I observed 
when full they were all carried in one 
direction. 

“What becomes of them now?” I 
asked. 


12 


“They go to the assorting and for- 
warding station. Come along and 
you shall see how systematically the 
business is run.” 

So we walked on until we came to 
a large and beautiful white house 
shaded by the largest and finest 
Christmas trees, but light within, as 
it had many windows. Inside was a 
busy scene! In a long room were 
rows of tables, like they have in 
greenhouses, spread thick with 
squirming babies of all colors, and 
hundreds of storks were busily mov- 
ing about. They were tying around 
the little bodies the ribbons, by which 
they were to be carried down to the 
world, pink ribbons on the boys, and 
blue on the girls. Pretty soon this 
was all done, and then another troop 
of storks hurried in. Each one seemed 
to look for a particular kind of baby 
white or black, brown or red, boy or 
girl, and having found it, seized the 
little wriggling form and disappeared. 

“Why do we hear no crying Mr. 
Stork?” said I. 

“For two reasons,” was the answer, 
“first, there is nothing to cry for 
here; no pins, no colic, no nighttime; 


13 


and, second, the first cry is reserved 
for the mother’s listening ears, as a 
reward for her anxious waiting. She 
always thinks it the sweetest sound 
she has ever heard! Now we will 
step into the office and see where the 
orders go out. This is the head- 
quarters of old Dr. Stork himself.” 

The Doctor looked 'very busy, and 
very dignified, apparently centuries 
old. Indeed I have heard he is very 
ancient and came from Germany 
originally. He had gnarled features 
and a wrinkled beak that supported a 
huge pair of spectacles, and he stood 
on one leg, the other tucked up 
under him. Before him was a counter 
supporting a record book, and at his 
ear a long distance telephone con- 
nected directly with our earth. 

A long line of storks was filing in 
front of the counter, and each one 
hurried away as he received his order. 
And this is a sample of what I heard 
from Dr. Stork in a deep croaking 
voice, “One extra black girl baby, 
Mrs. Hottentot, South Africa. One 
boy, medium variety, Mrs. Nouveau- 
riche, Goldtown, Colorado. One A 
No^ 1 pink and white girl, blue 


14 


eyes specified, Mrs. Wantembad,— ” 

“Excuse me, Doctor,’’ came an in- 
terruption, “they have four girls 
now.” 

“Never mind; take them as they 
come; same as other folks.” 

Here my guide whispered to me that 
in order to keep a proper balance 
every other baby sent out is boy or 
girl, and that is why people do not 
always get what they ask for. Then 
came an order, as a particularly stout 
looking stork came along, “Triplets; 
Mrs. Nocash, Poverty Flats, New 
York.” 

“I am glad that is not my load,” 
said my guide. 

“One blond girl, from the peroxide 
patch, for Mrs. Lars Olsen, Minneapo- 
lis. One boy, gold crested variety, — 
pick out a Strong one, — Queen of 
Spain. One china baby, girl, for Mrs. 
San Toy, Pekin. One boy from the 
black eyed bambino bush, Mrs. Tam- 
bourine, Rome, Italy. Etc., etc.” 

“Well we must be going,” said my 
guide, and he led me on, into a very 
spacious hall, or portico, which at one 
end apparently opened out into the 
blue sky. The other three sides were 
15 


full of doorways from which many 
storks came hurrying, each one with 
a precious little burden suspended 
from his beak. They hastened to- 
wards the big blue opening, a cease- 
less throng, spread their wings, and 
disappeared. 

“That is the jumping off place to 
the world below,” said my guide, and 
we must start now, or you will be 
missed.” 

“Oh, please, Mr. Stork,” I cried, 
“I would much rather stay up here in 
the Baby Garden; and that jumping 
off place does not look very safe or 
nice.” 

“That is impossible,” he answered. 
“Then please, dear Mr. Stork, let me 
take home a souvenir of this wonder- 
ful journey, that I can keep for my 
very own ! ’ ’ 

“Well, don’t choose a heavy one, as 
you will be load enough yourself on 
the return trip,” said the wise bird. 
So quickly, for fear he would change 
his mind, I hurried out, and away 
down one of the sugary paths to a 
certain bush where I remembered a 
dear little girl baby just opening like 
a rose-bud. 


16 


She had shiny gray eyes and dark 
hair on her little head, and her tiny 
pink mouth had seemed to smile on 
me when I passed there before. I 
gathered the wee prize rapturously, 
hid it in a fold of my gown, and ran 
back to the house where my stork was 
waiting for me. 

Without more ado he seized me 
again by my leather belt and lifted 
me off my feet, while I held tightly 
to my little burden. 

After the first dizzy moment of sus- 
pension over the blue abyss, a vision 
of stars and eddying worlds, millions 
of miles below. I closed my eyes and 
knew no more — 

When I opened them I was lying in 
my own orchard again, on the new 
cut hay. The big white clouds had 
all traveled over to the western hori- 
zon, where they lay heaped in tinted 
masses of saffron and rose. At first I 
thought it was a distant view of the 
Garden of Babies, but as I strained my 
eyes to see, darkness enveloped it all, 
and some rheumatic twinges re- 
minded me that the dew falls early in 
August. 

A heavy sense of disappointment 


17 


stole over me, and I began to fear I 
had only been dreaming, when as I 
started to arise, I became aware that 
a warm little bundle was pressing 
against me, cradled in my arm. 
There came a small wail, and could it 
be! yes, it certainly was that same 
little baby-blossom I had plucked in 
the Garden above. And if anyone 
thinks this story is not true, I still 
have my little souvenir to show of the 
journey I took with the stork on a 
summer’s day! 



18 




'■ -i. ■’': 

■■ ■^--.ii .< >*'' ■> ■>,. ■: ' »•, T j.), 


.'t '^J;\-'^ 




niL - • 

5^,' w' •'■ * ’. ,v ' 

♦J t i. V ili * ■• 

tiiiX I - . i 


A ^ 


r:‘ ,;■ >v.. n p j>i‘ * ■ • 

• \‘‘ .. . ^ :'i • f*'* *• • 



i * u C 

• II ‘ »t' 'T L 


■ lii'’ * ' - ■Vc* 

' “&• .'• M ■ ' 

^ I 










V 


V 





MAY 




190 




0 
























































